


Life In Plastic

by roachpatrol



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Sex Toys, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roachpatrol/pseuds/roachpatrol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This particular smuppet is sewn out of some kind of blatantly artificial orange microfiber, the nap of the plush so silky it almost feels slick. When you give it a squish the body seems more firm than his regular model, denser. Bro usually keeps his toys light, too fluffy to feel like anything but props and puppets, but this one’s pleasantly dense and heavy. You don’t think you’ll be ripping it apart as easily as the last few. </p><p>And then, of course, there’s the unusual addition of a tail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life In Plastic

_Make me walk, make me talk, do whatever you please_  
 _I can act like a star, I can beg on my knees_  
 _Come jump in, bimbo friend, let us do it again,_  
 _Hit the town, fool around, let's go party_  
—Aqua, _Barbie Girl_

 

“You gonna tell me what I’m looking at, boss?” you ask. Bro makes a low amused noise, and spreads his hands wide and innocent. 

“How about you tell me what you’re lookin’ at,” he says. 

You flip him off, absently, and examine the toy you’ve been tossed. This particular smuppet is sewn out of some kind of blatantly artificial orange microfiber, the nap of the plush so silky it almost feels slick. When you give it a squish the body seems more firm than his regular model, denser. Bro usually keeps his toys light, too fluffy to feel like anything but props and puppets, but this one’s pleasantly dense and heavy. You don’t think you’ll be ripping it apart as easily as the last few. 

And then, of course, there’s the unusual addition of a tail. 

“Tell me this vibrates,” you say, fingering the thick, tapered length, coiling it against your palm.

He smirks. You find the hidden button inside the ass and—oh. Yes. The tail _writhes._ There’s an armature in it, somewhere, it doesn’t just vibrate, it actually squirms. The fat tail pushes against your fingers in a way that heats you right the fuck up and you find yourself laughing, hiking the toy up under your armpit as you wrestle off your jeans. 

“I can’t fuckin’ believe you,” you say, and the grand jackass on the futon just gives you a lazy, ironic salute. You can feel the weight of his eyes behind the shades, and, better, you can feel the weight of the single glossy camera lens trained right the fuck on you. You sprawl back against the floor, naked and already dilating with anticipatory pleasure, and hold the toy up to figure out what to do with it first. 

The long, bulbous snout—you know, at least, what to do with the snout. You lick it a few times, get the long stiff length of it good and damp, enjoy the way the microfibre feels against your tongue as it slicks down with spit, as it drags softly against your lips. Your bulge pulses a few times in its sheathe and you palm it, easily, coax it out a bit. Yeah, that’s nice, and you’ve sure as fuck got Bro’s attention now. 

You deep-throat the proboscis just to show off, an easy trick: angle your neck, pop your jaw, and the whole head fits into your mouth, rubbing sweetly against the clutching muscles of your throat. You’ve done this in front of a mirror before, you know the bulge will stretch the royal lines of your neckflaps so nicely, pop them open into bright purple gashes and you tilt your fins up just _so_ to frame, let your tongue show as a dark collar around the toy’s neck. How d’you like them apples, champ? 

He likes them just fine, if his breathing’s anything to go by. You shoot him a look under your eyelashes and he’s got one hand casually on the tent in his trousers, so very utterly bullshit casual, and he knows you know, too. He just grins, regal as a motherfuck, and that teases the rest of your bulge out into open air. 

There you go, that’s good. You pull the smuppet out of your mouth, letting your spit stretch from your lips to the sodden nose, and then hold it over your bulge with a showy fuck-you flourish.

“Get on with it,” Bro says. 

“Tsk, champ. Don’t you know you can’t rush quality?” you sniff, and feed the lovely slick length down into the reach of your bulge. It feels fantastic to coil around, as always, for all that it doesn’t really grasp back it’s still slick and firm, leagues better than your hand. The toy’s tail lashes and twists, also, and that sends little movements all along through it, makes it twitch and jerk so nice as you rock it against you. You have plans for that tail, eager and obvious plans, but it’s nice just to enjoy the external stimulation for a while. 

You roll your hips and purr, clenching around the nose and reaching your spare hand down to pet your slit. Warmth blossoms up through you as you tease out the first drops of lubricant, and when you roll your wrist and tease the nose of the smuppet down and around your bulge as a deliciously sliding counterpoint you feel the drops thicken into a steady trickle. You’re making a frightful mess of yourself like this, just shocking, and you make sure when you writhe up against the toy that the flex of your thighs smears the puddle all over the goddamn place. 

Bro pops the button of his fly and you laugh, ragged and triumphant. He fishes inside his boxers for the length of his fat human cock, camera angled so it’ll be thrusting up superimposed against the sloppy disaster you’ve made of yourself and you blow that glossy black eye a kiss, pleasure curling through you like you’re all bulge, all nook, all sex. This is what you’re _for_.

You turn the toy around in your grip so the firm spine of the thing is resting in the crease of your hip, and that thick, clever, wriggling tail is laid right along your open slit. It doesn’t feel quite like a bulge: it moves too mechanically, too forcefully. You can feel the armature inside the plush, the knobbles of balljoints, the stuttering vibration of servos, the silky-sticky dragging feel of dry microfibre against the delicate blossoming tissue of your nook instead of the gooey frictionless slide you’d get from another troll’s self-lubricated flesh. It’s fucking heavenly, this alien sensation, it’s amazing, you love it. It doesn’t feel like anything you’ve ever felt before, it doesn’t feel remotely natural. It feels better.

When you get it in to the first rotating joint you can feel the careless mechanical prod of it, almost enough to hurt. It can’t sense you, can’t really respond to the clutch and flutter of your nook or intentionally work itself further into you. It’s just a tool: it only does what you push it into doing. You’re keening like a clutch of of pan-fried morons, stupid as hell from the sheer decadent satisfaction. You force the tail in to the second punishing joint and you wail your fucking lungs out. 

By the time you’ve got the thing’s puffy butt pressed firm to your slit the toy’s body has gotten stretched taut and stitch-popped between your bulge’s grasp on the snout and your nook’s devouring pull on the tail. And then there’s Bro, oh, yes, just as taut, he’s working his cock fast and breathless and your throat is starting to rasp around each giggly keen, you’re fuck-drunk and on fire. You can’t reach a climax, not dry, not from a toy, but fuck, you could stay like this forever. You could ride this stupid sex puppet till you rip apart, archaeologists will find your fossilized bones entombed in a glossy amethyst crust of jizz and they’ll look at each other from behind their little archaeologist paper masks, or maybe that’s doctors, you don’t give a fuck, but they will go _damn_ that boy went out in a way we all have to frankly fucking admire. 

Shit, Bro looks close to done. Humans. No stamina. You roll to your knees, wave your ass in the air like the shameless goddamn gorgeous slut you are. 

“Come on, come th’fuck on,” you moan. “Don’t you fffuckin’vaste that load of yours, boss, don’t you _dare_.”

He has the camera propped on the back of the futon and his hands clamped around your hips in a flash. Weird fucking trick but you don’t care, _immediate attention_ isn’t anywhere near soon enough for your tastes. You arch your back and yowl for him as he pries the tail from your nook, slow and unbearably steady, and then you yowl louder when he ties the body of the damn thing in a neat knot that has both tail and snout bracketing your bulge. The sensation of _two_ lengths against your own is dizzying, hits you in some dumb primitive cavetroll hindstem that sputters and stalls and goes _wait, what?_ , the tail undulating mindlessly against your bulge, sopping wet with fluid and the nose softly echoing each jerk but rougher, stiffer, so very nice to hold and squeeze and rub.

When Bro pushes his blunt cock into you it hurts so perfectly, it fucking burns a hole clear through you. Humans are so _hot_. You whimper “Oh,” and “yeah, please, yes,” and he grabs your horns and bears your head down to the floor as he seats that ludicrously wide thing of his inside you. God, you’re going to be walking funny tomorrow. You’re so worked up even the barest hint of his precome has you riled to the point of desperation. 

“ _Give_ it to me,” you snarl, trying to buck, and his fists clench tight around your rack, swamping you with his presence, the sweaty electrical taste of human and male and _fucking you_ , you want to submit but he’s not _giving you enough_ , you can’t go limp for him like this, not while he’s holding out on you. You grind fiercely back up against him and scream when he starts pumping in and out. You hate this part, hate the gutwrenching panic that stings at you each time his cock withdraws, hate the way it makes you scream like a crazy thing but god you love the way he takes you apart. He’s close and he fucks in and out fast, almost shuddery, and it makes the toy bounce and swing heavily from your bulge. You have to reach a hand back between your legs to hold the smuppet against yourself and you know in some dim uncaring way that you’re drooling, sobbing, you’re ready, you’re so ready. You beg with every breath and every buck of your hips and every tremble down your spine, you beg for more with everything you’ve got.

When he comes it’s a bright burning shot, short and sweet and so hot, so sudden. Your nook spasms around his cock and you can’t cope with even this amount, humans don’t ever give much but comes out so _intense_ , it hits up against your seedflap in hard tangible pulses. You close your eyes and moan with relief as climax gentles you down, down, as your nook pulses and swallows and relaxes, as your bulge slows its squirming. You drop the ruined toy to the floor and sigh, melting into Bro’s touch, rolling with him as he gives you a few last desultory thrusts and then pulls out. He tips you over to your side and you go with it, not even opening your eyes. It’s peaceful like this. 

“So?” he finally says, when it’s been long enough his voice doesn’t even rasp. Smug fucking bastard, god, you love him unreasonably. 

“Still can’t tell y’vhat the fuck I was lookin’ at, sport,” you drawl, and don’t give a fuck how your voice wobbles. “But I’ll take a dozen of ‘em.”


End file.
